Autogrill - Francesco Guccini

La ragazza dietro al banco mescolava birra chiara e Seven-up,

e il sorriso da fossette e denti era da pubblicit?,

come i visi alle pareti di quel piccolo autogrill,

mentre i sogni miei segreti li rombavano via i TIR…

Bella, d' una sua bellezza acerba, bionda senza averne l' aria,

quasi triste, come i fiori e l' erba di scarpata ferroviaria,

il silenzio era scalfito solo dalle mie chimere

che tracciavo con un dito dentro ai cerchi del bicchiere…

Basso il sole all' orizzonte colorava la vetrina

e stampava lampi e impronte sulla pompa da benzina,

lei specchi?

alla soda-fountain quel suo viso da bambina

ed io… sentivo un' infelicit?

vicina…

Vergognandomi, ma solo un poco appena, misi un disco nel juke-box

per sentirmi quasi in una scena di un film vecchio della Fox,

ma per non gettarle in faccia qualche inutile clich?

picchiettavo un ind?

in latta di una scatola di t…

Ma nel gioco avrei dovuto dirle: «Senti, senti io ti vorrei parlare…»,

poi prendendo la sua mano sopra al banco: «Non so come cominciare:

non la vedi, non la tocchi oggi la malinconia?

Non lasciamo che trabocchi: vieni, andiamo, andiamo via.»

Termin?

in un cigolio il mio disco d' atmosfera,

si sent?

uno sgocciolio in quell' aria al neon e pesa,

sovrast?

l' acciottolio quella mia frase sospesa,

«ed io… «, ma poi arriv?

una coppia di sorpresa…

E in un attimo, ma come accade spesso, cambi?

il volto d' ogni cosa,

cancellarono di colpo ogni riflesso le tendine in nylon rosa,

mi chiam?

la strada bianca, «Quant'??"chiesi, e la pagai,

le lasciai un nickel di mancia, presi il resto e me ne andai…

The girl behind the counter mixed lager and Seven-up,

and the dimple-toothed smile was for advertising,

like the faces on the walls of that little motorway restaurant,

while my secret dreams thundered away the trucks ...

Beautiful, of one of her unripe beauty, blonde without having the air,

almost sad, like the flowers and the grass of the railway slope,

the silence was only scratched by my chimeras

that I traced with a finger inside the circles of the glass ...

Low the sun on the horizon colored the shop window

and imprinted flashes and fingerprints on the gas pump,

do you mirrors?

to her soda-fountain that face of her as a child

and I ... did I feel unhappiness?

close ...

Ashamed, but just a little bit, I put a record in the juke-box

to feel almost in an old Fox movie scene,

but so as not to throw some useless clich in her face?

tapped an ind?

in the tin of a tea box ...

But in the game I should have said to her: "Listen, listen, I'd like to talk to you ...",

then taking her hand over the counter: "I don't know how to start:

Can't you see it, can't melancholy touch it today?

Let's not let it overflow: come, let's go, let's go away. "

Termin?

my atmosphere record in a creak,

did you hear?

a drip in that neon and heavy air,

overst?

the clatter that suspended sentence of mine,

"And I ...", but then he arrived?

a surprise couple ...

And in a moment, but as often happens, do you change?

the face of everything,

the pink nylon curtains suddenly erased all reflection,

my name is?

the dirt road, "How much?" I asked, and paid for it,

I left her a nickel as a tip, took the change and left ...